


The Sabbatical Relationship

by hwshipper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/hwshipper
Summary: Disclaimer West is the creation of srsly_yes. Other characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.A/N: Written as a birthday present for srsly_yes, an early additional scene for her wonderful fic,In His Footsteps





	The Sabbatical Relationship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [srsly_yes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In His Footsteps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/66583) by [srsly_yes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes). 



> Disclaimer West is the creation of srsly_yes. Other characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
> 
> A/N: Written as a birthday present for srsly_yes, an early additional scene for her wonderful fic, [In His Footsteps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/66583/chapters/88108)

“You have a great view up here,” Wilson called over his shoulder, swirling ruby wine in his glass, eyes fixed on Chicago skyscrapers. “I guess being on the twentieth floor is ten times better than being on the tenth.”

“Twice as good.” West stirred a big pot on the stove as he corrected the math.

“Touché.” Wilson smiled affectionately, thinking that House wouldn’t have let him get away with that, either. West beamed back, then blushed a little, and ran a hand through his sandy-colored hair.

“I can spend hours just looking out of the window sometimes,” West confessed. He put down the spoon and stood leaning with one hand on the kitchen counter, his tall slender frame poised in reflection. “I like watching the planets move slowly from night to night. It’s probably my imagination, but I feel I can see more stars up here than you can from the ground.”

“Or from the tenth floor, probably,” Wilson agreed, looking around and mentally comparing his own rather shabby apartment with the sleek black leather that abounded here. Of course, this condo was West’s home, while Wilson’s was only a six-month pad. 

Two months left, before he would go back to Princeton... two more months for House to get his head out of his ass, cut down on the Vicodin, and generally buck his ideas up. Maybe it would happen. Maybe a pig would swoop past this window right now.

Wilson stood in a reverie at the window for a few minutes more, before West announced, “Goat curry, coming right up!”, and Wilson turned to find the internist carrying a tureen from the kitchen area to the dining table. His sleeves were rolled up, and his biceps bulged slightly with the effort. He placed it down carefully, and Wilson got a good view of his snug-fit jean-clad ass. 

“Goat!” Wilson came to sit at the table, amused and surprised. “You’re not...kidding?”

West grinned, acknowledging the pun. “It’s an Indian recipe, hope you like it,” he explained, ladling rice onto plates. His checked shirt was unbuttoned about half-way down to reveal a T-shirt that said _I’m not a doctor but I’ll take a look._

“I love it,” Wilson said sincerely after one mouthful, and West’s face blossomed like a flower in the sun. Then he bumped his knee against Wilson’s under the table.

It could have been an accident, but of course it wasn’t. Wilson knew this was on the cards, but he still didn’t quite know how to react. Two days ago, it had been him who’d made the move; galvanized by four months of frustrated abstinence, and tipped over the edge by anger at House (being an ass, God, _honestly_ )--coming straight off the phone to jump a surprised but obviously thrilled West. It had been rough and quick and hot.

West was up for more, of course, Wilson had sensed his puppy-eyed devotion almost from the day they’d met. But did _he_ want a repeat? Did he really want to keep on having sabbatical sex in Chicago, or would it be easier just to leave it as a one-night stand? Wilson could pull his knee back now, and West would pretend it hadn’t happened and hide his disappointment; he’d accept it, he knew about House, knew it was, well, complicated...

West’s blue eyes (more of a violet hue than House’s intense blue, Wilson mused) clouded over, his smooth cheeks pinched, and he looked suddenly even younger than his thirty years, and vulnerable. 

And Wilson thought _two months, what the hell_ , and bumped his knee back. 

END


End file.
